Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Martine Lillian Herron
Present Day
The emerald catches the morning light as I rest my hand on his chest, the diamond stones surrounding it glint with a quiet arrogance that feels almost appropriate.
His skin is warm beneath my palm, smooth and slightly golden, and I let my fingers drift along the edge of his sternum.
He’s still asleep, so I stay there for a moment longer, soaking in the weight of him beside me, the quiet hush of the room, the heavy silence that only comes after giving yourself over entirely.
I imagine this morning is a moment in my life I’ll never forget.
The sheets are tangled between our legs.
One of his arms is stretched behind his head, the other curls around my waist like a tether.
I glance down at where his Brotherhood of Death signet ring rests on his pinky finger, pressed between us, cold against my skin.
Mine now. Whether I like it or not. I wasn’t surprised to see his matching chest scar, having seen my brother's fresh brands on our summer trip to Italy not long after they got it.
Branded like cattle, just another soldier for the Brotherhood, with or without the ring, you belong to them and them alone.
There’s a knock at the door, softly pulling my eyes from the angry white scar on his pectoral muscle.
“Coffee service,” a footman calls through the wood.
He enters without waiting for a response, wheeling in a silver tray with practiced precision.
Two small white porcelain cups, a dish of sugar cubes, and cream in a crystal pitcher.
The scent of dark roast cuts through the stillness.
His eyes flick toward the bed, but he says nothing.
Trained to see it all and remain silent.
When the door clicks shut again, Hayden shifts beneath me.
“I’d prefer it if it were you bringing me coffee naked,” he says, voice gravelly from sleep, eyes still half-closed.
"I don’t think I’ve ever poured my own morning coffee before," I say, reaching for a cup and wrapping both hands around it.
His mouth lifts slightly. “I’m saddled with a spoiled brat.”
I sip slowly, the coffee bitter and rich. “So…are you going to tell me where you’re disappearing to this afternoon, or should I just assume you’re off to do something that would make a priest pass away?”
He leans up on one elbow, amused. “Brotherhood meeting.”
That makes me pause. I glance at him over the rim of my cup. “You’re sharing your schedule with me?”
He shrugs and sits up fully, the blanket falling away from his torso. “Figured I’d throw you a bone.”
“How generous,” I murmur.
“Careful,” he warns, taking the cup from my hands and finishing the rest himself.
"I always want to know where you are. And I know you feel the same, given your newly confessed love for stalking." I raise an eyebrow, letting my gaze drift to the nightstand that’s still shamelessly stocked with my dirtied panties, then back to him with a pointed look.
He laughs softly, then leans over and brushes his mouth against my neck. The heat of it makes me press my thighs together beneath the sheets. He kisses the curve just below my ear, a soft inhale of my skin, as if he wants to remember exactly how I taste.
His hands trail down my body and between my legs, slipping his fingers into our mix of slippery wetness from the night before.
Sinfully, he lifts his fingers up and to his mouth, tasting the mix of our cum from between my legs.
The look of him, so devilish and sexy, makes me suck in a breath as my nipples harden.
“Everything about you belongs to me.”
“I never outright agreed to be yours, you know,” I lie, tilting my face away as though I hadn’t confessed my love for him only just last night.
He kisses my neck anyway, the kind that makes my breath catch and my heart trip over itself. His hand returns to between my legs and finds my clit quickly, granting me the gift of those slow and perfectly pressured circles he loves to draw there.
The teasing pressure of his fingers and his luscious lips at my neck is enough to bring me to a quick and sharp orgasm, and within seconds, I’m crying out his name.
By the time he pulls away, I’m annoyed with how much I want him to stay. I desperately reach for him, trying to pull him back into bed with me, but with the self-control of a saint, he kisses my forehead and leaves me in bed to begin his day.
Hayden swings his legs out of bed and stands, stretching.
The light shifts over his back, catching old scars and the cut of muscle along his shoulders.
I’ve never had the chance to learn about his body; our time together is usually so stolen or controlled by him.
This is the first time I’m able to enjoy his naked body.
The first time I’m able to see him and know him like this.
I watch him cross to the wardrobe and pull a shirt from a row of pressed white collars, everything arranged by the house staff in militant perfection. He buttons it slowly, cufflinks already set out for him.
As he fastens them, I push myself up on my elbows, the blanket sliding down around my hips.
“Can we throw a party this weekend?” I ask as casually as I can muster, although I'm asking on bated breath.
He pauses, glancing at me in the mirror.
“A party?”
“A celebration,” I clarify. “For our marriage. Something beautiful.”
He turns, one brow lifted. “You want a room full of people in exchange for an evening of just you and me?”
“No,” I say with a slow smile. “I want a room full of people wishing they were us.”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin, but he says nothing. Just watches me for a long moment, the weight of whatever he’s thinking hidden behind that careful, calculating gaze.
I barely hold in my anticipation, unsure of why I suddenly want a party, but feeling like it’s one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. Isn’t this what my mother said marriage was all about, after all? Just a series of parties you barely remember and feigned interest masked with alcoholism?
And I hope he says yes. Because for once, I want to be seen.
Not just as his wife. But as someone who has returned to Society after months of silence.
I want to talk to strangers and make friends with his acquaintances.
I want to know and enjoy his family, and I want to see Society members from Eulogia that I’ve been kept away from these past months.
I never thought I would long for Society, but once removed from it, I realized how integral it was to my daily life. How much of a poised aristocrat I genuinely am, and how purposeless I feel now that it’s been stripped from me.
I miss school, but clearly that’s an argument for another day. Only recently has he begun having my schoolwork sent to the house so I may keep up with my courses from afar.
If the campus isn’t safe, I appreciate how he brings it to me. And this party could be the perfect exception, as it would take place on the estate grounds. Which, according to Hayden, is perfectly safe, and from what I’ve experienced of his insanity for control, I know it will be.
He finishes fastening his cuffs, then turns toward me entirely, eyes dragging down the line of my bare legs still tangled in the sheets.
He studies me the way someone might assess an antique, priceless perhaps, but breakable if mishandled.
He doesn’t speak right away, just moves to pour himself another cup of coffee, the steam curling between us.
Then, finally, he says, “Call Dale and plan it.”
I blink at him, shocked that he remembered how important Dale has become to me. “You’re letting me plan it?”
I should know better; he knows every single detail about me.
He looks at me like I just said something ridiculous. “I married you, didn’t I?”
The smile that spreads across my face feels instinctive, smug, a little breathless.
I toss the covers back and climb out of bed, already halfway in motion.
The marble is cool beneath my feet, but it feels like a challenge, not a discomfort.
My mind is racing, already combing through details.
Color schemes. Guest lists. Who we want to impress and who we want to humiliate.
I pull open the closet and grab a cream cashmere sweater set, similar to my favorite that was left behind at Eulogia—the one that’s as soft as air and always makes me feel just polished enough.
Now that I consider his stalking tendencies, there’s a chance it actually is my set from Eulogia.
It didn’t escape me that my closet here at our home is practically a replica of what I had back at Eulogia.
I tug on a pair of fitted jeans and my white Keds, just like a pair I took to Italy with me two summers ago.
Like it’s the best idea in the world, I grab a wide-brimmed straw sun hat from the shelf and drop it onto my head. I slide on my round tortoiseshell sunglasses and turn toward the mirror. Effortless, ready to be sun-drenched to perfection.
I catch Hayden watching me through the reflection. He’s already putting on his jacket, amused at my flurry of movement.
I press a kiss to his mouth. It’s quick but lingering, like punctuation on a shared secret. “I’ll be on the terrace.”
Before he can respond, I’m halfway out the door.
“Hello,” I call to the footmen in the hallway, not breaking stride. “More coffee, please. Bring it to the terrace. I’ve got arrangements to make for this weekend, and I’ll need your help.”
The glass doors are already open by the time I reach the terrace.
Morning light spills across the stone, golden and warm, and I settle into one of the tufted lounge chairs.
I have the bedroom's corded phone pulled out of the double doors in my lap as I fall back, crossing my feet.
I dial Dale and listen to it ring, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Dale answers on the second ring, her voice clipped and amused like always.